I miss you
by DragonWater
Summary: WWIII has broken out, and England is seriously injured during. Unconscious and in serious danger of attack, America fears for England's life, along with his own mental state if something bad were to happen. Rate T for slight gore and swearing.
1. Chapter 1

Guns, bombs, death. That's all America could see now. They block his senses, choking him, blinding him, and yet he refuses to kneel. Refuses to succumb to the wishes of the enemy. He can't, not now.

_'It was a few years ago, now,'_ He remembers, slumping against a dusty, decrepit wall, too tired to move, _'Russia had gotten trigger-happy and decided to invade china after getting his army up to some insane amount. He won, of course he won!_' America sighs, _'Poor china, I hope he's okay. And Lithuania...and Estonia, Latvia, Ukraine, Belarus... They don't want any part in this, why does he have to force them? Why is he doing this?!' _A few tears almost escape his eyes, but the blue-eyed nation blinks them away almost immediately. There are others on the battle-field he happens to be on at the moment. They're fighting Russian and Estonian troops on the Mongolian border. Why Russia hadn't just invaded Mongolia to get to china in the first place is for some unknown reasons. Maybe he's afraid of her? America is not here alone, American soldiers are living and dying next to Mongolian and English troops.

England...

**England!**

_'I shouldn't be just sitting here, I need to find England!' _America jumps to his feet, quite literally, ignoring the annoying ache in his legs, and rushes off. He wants, no, _needs_, to find England. His mentor, his teacher, his friend, his everything. They had gotten separated by an ambush a few hours ago, and America hasn't seen him since. The nation peeked his head around half-blown-up walls and tall buildings. The modernized streets now look like a ghost town with the only noise being guns a few blocks away. America walks slowly through destroyed homes and burned possessions, almost tripping a few times over the rubble that's littering the streets. He makes sure to look through every dusty alleyway, check every window, just to make sure England's not there and injured, or worse, _dead_.

America had joined the war a few months after China was invaded, England was not far behind and neither was France, Germany, Italy, Canada, Sweden, Finland, Norway, Japan, Mongolia, India and Indonesia. Though Sweden, Finland and Norway only joined to try and make sure Russia didn't invade northern Europe. All of the other countries knew of the war's importance, but didn't want to put themselves in danger.

America stumbles and almost falls over a medium-sized piece of rubble-is that burned wood?- in the middle of the road. The guns get father and father away from America, and for that he's almost glad. But England never strays far from his men and allies and is probably right in the line of fire. America sighs. _'That's England. He'll bitch and whine everyday about absolutely everything. But then he'll torture himself to the brink of death if it meant others would be safe, including me...'_ His heart aches, he could feel it, like it was being squeezed. He shook himself out of the trance, turns around and begins to walk at a brisk pace toward the gunfire. He's scared. Of course he's scared. Not only for his own life, but for his soldiers, Mongolia, _England_.

He rounds a corner, the loud scraping of bullets being ripped from a gun is burning in his ears. The bright-eyes nation enters a clearing, he can see his, England's and Mongolia's troop's backs as they're all piled up behind half-tumbled walls, cars and large pieces of rubble. He knows Russian and Estonian troops are doing the same on the other end of the street, which also means he can't see them, but he can hear them. A few troops peak their heads and guns over the top, fire for a short while, and get back under cover. The enemy does the same, though the strategy does absolutely nothing and is only fueling the stalemate the two enemies have accidentally caused.

America scans the area for a fraction of a fraction of a second. He happens to spot someone behind a car with long, brown hair, tied in two braids, under a helmet, and catches the person yelling silent commands enthusiastically at the troops around them._ Mongolia!_ he inwardly grins at the sight of the female nation. He runs up to her as fast as he can, ignoring the bullets obviously aimed at him, and hides behind the car with her. She's too focused on her commands to notice, so America sits down behind her and waits until it looks like she needs some sort of rest too before bothering her. After firing a few rounds, she sighs and rolls over so she can lean her back on the car and takes a few breaths. America taps her shoulder, She looks confused for a second as her large, blue eyes land on the blonde nation, until relief and happiness fill them. She tackles the larger country, wrapping her arms around his neck. "I was so worried about you!" She exclaims

"I'm okay, Mongy, (England always giggled at that nickname) I'm alright, see?" America answered in a calming voice, letting Mongolia go and holding her shoulders. She sighed, "We thought you were dead, or captured, you disappeared!" She hit America, rather hard, on the arm.

"No," He rubbed him arm, "I was looking for yo- wait,_ we_?" He asked in a hopeful voice.

"Yes, _we_ were worried about you, and by _we_, I meant me and England you idiot,"

"England!? Where is he!?"

"He's over there," Mongolia nods her head toward a large pile of rubble a few meters away from the car, still slightly in front of it.

And there he is, England, _his _England. With his unruly blonde hair, emerald-green eyes, caterpillar brows and the most determined, angry, passionate look on the Brit's face as America had ever seen. He has his green uniform on, though it doesn't looks very smart, it's covered in dust, dirt, rubble and-is that _blood__? _"He's pretty angry at the moment. Not surprising, after we lost you I thought he'd tear the place down and go kill Russia himself," She said quietly. America glaces at her as she says this, '_He'd do that...for me?' _America smiles to himself. "Hey," He says calmly, "Could you cover for me?"

Mongolia smiles and winks, "Yeah," She peeks her head from around the car, motioning for him to run, now! America quickly gets up, wasting no time, and sprinting to the wall England was behind, hearing deafening gunshots ring in his ears. He slumps down the wall, panting, he spots England having a double-take. He gave America a glance, before slowly turning around to him, showing the younger nation his bushy eyebrows and lime-green eyes. Those eyes. No matter what England denies, or what he forces his face to display, his eyes always give it away. His eyes right now, are showing relief, hope, and the most happiness America has ever seen England display. The older blonde's face look like he's just about to crack a smile before America feels a stinging in his face. "Ooow! What the hell Eng-?" England cuts Americas high-pitched whine with a death-gripping hug, burying his face in the larger country's chest.

"We thought you were dead, you idiot!" England yells, his voice, thick with accent, soothes America, and the blue-eyed nation gently wraps his arms around England. They sit there for a while, just enjoying each-other. The horrible crack of firing guns is drowned out by the relaxed and happy atmosphere of the two English-speaking countries.

That is, until silence drops down on the clearing like a tonne of bricks.


	2. Chapter 2

Time stood still, or seems to, the two break apart and hold each other at arms length. England furrows his furry eyebrows and turn his back to America. He looks around the wall, and freezes. All of the colour drains from his face as the English nation's knees almost buckle under. "England?" America says in a concerned voice,"England, Iggy, what's wrong? What is it?" He asks. England doesn't answer, but begins to shiver. He very slowly withdraws his head from view and sits down on the rough ground, back resting on the wall. He looks like he'd seen a ghost. "England? England? You okay? Hey," America waves his hand in front of England's face, and that seems to bring him back from that strange trance he'd been in. England's face snaps to America's and their eyes meet. England's eyes show true _terror_, an expression America hasn't seen on his shorter friend in a while, he'd almost forgotten what it looks like. England blinks twice and shakes his head. When he opens his eyes again, he looks angry. Not just angry, fuming. A true, malevolent aura forms around him. _  
_

England looks over to Mongolia, and she has the same vengeful air about her. They both nod to each-other. England turns to him once more. "America," He begins, "Stay here. And DO NOT come out no matter what happens, do you understand?" His voice is firm and strong and loud. America nods, "No matter what happens," He adds calmly. They both pause as England seems to be thinking about something. Before America can ask what, the older blonde had gently grabbed his face and is _kissing him. _It's chaste, sweet, but America doesn't react, he just sits there wide-eyed before England breaks away and stands up, revealing himself. Mongolia does the same. America shakes his head, almost grinning, but the situation hits him like a brick wall once more and he forces himself to suppress it.

England limps into the middle of the street with Mongolia. They both stare at something, or someone, at the other end. America crawls to where England once was, he shifts himself to his forehead and eyes are past the side of the wall, he can see someone at the other end of the street. '_N-no..here? How can he be here?'_

Russia stands, his tall stature alone among rubble making him appear 20x more intimidating. Despite this, his long, beige coat is stricken his blood, rips and dirt. His pink scarf is torn and dusty, his bright purple eyes show despair and regret. His face is serious, but a kind and sad smile adorns his lips. "Hello you two," he says in a fake, cheery voice. Though now it sounds tired, sad and strained.

"Russia," England says curtly. "Could you care to explain to us why you're here."

"To ask you two the same questions." He says with a thick accent. Countries usually go to the largest or most important battles that are happening at the moment.

"You know why we're here," Mongolia replies.

"And so do you. Where is America?" Russia asks

"Not here," England replies immediately.

"You were quick to deny. Where is he?"

"Not here, we lost him," Mongolia says.

Russia sighs, "Looks like you two have to go first, da?"

"What?" England says. All of the trio's eyes widen in horror as Russia pulls a powerful-looking pistol from his battered coat with shivering hands, despite the fact it wasn't that cold. "I-" His voice hitches and he sighs, the beige-haired nation takes a deep breath, "I was hoping to get rid of America first. But i suppose any way is correct...da?" He points the pistol at England. America's eyes widen. '_I-I can't let him do that?! But if I go out there he might kill me...But...If that were me...and England was in my place, he would save me. I know him. He would risk everything to save me...' _America's internal battle ends with him slowly standing up, revealing himself from behind the wall, he could feel everyone's eyes on him.

Especially England's. The Brit's bright green eyes glare at America with worry, fear and the slightest bit of anger toward the young nation. America gave him and Mongolia a hopeful look, and gives Russia an irritating look to counter the larger countries eyes full of barely-contained pity. "Why do you want to kill me first, Russia?" He demands. Russia sighs.

"It was orders. If I could, I was to kill America first..." He replied solemnly.

"Why?" England asks with a strong and even voice.

"You believe I am stupid enough to reveal something like that?" Russia says with a crease in his brow

"You were stupid enough to invade China!" Mongolia shouts at him before he flinches at the question.

"I have my reasons," Russia almost whispers.

"What are they, then?" England asks, annoyed.

"I cannot say," Russia whispers once more.

"Russia,"Mongolia addresses the large country in a much more soothing tone. "We just want to know why, not how or when. Answering us won't harm your country, will it?"

Russia lets out a dejected yet tense sigh as his arm begins to shake "I had no choice. H-He made me. I didn't want to, but we cannot deny our bosses, nor our people, as you already know..." The gun in Russia's had turns to America. England's eyes narrow, but it doesn't look like Russia's going to pull the trigger. "You understand, da? I had no choice. I did not want to. He threatened me, too. He had control over my army... He threatened my sisters. But I don't know what's better for them. To die, or to be made to do this..." He gestures to the gun, "To a fellow country. I do not want this. I never wanted to become this again..." Russia's voice begins to shake, so he stops himself. "Wait..." America says softly, "You didn't want to become a commie?" He asks in disbelief.

"Of course not..." Russia looks up, then back at the gun in his hands. America begins to step away from the wall toward Mongolia and England, about a foot in-front of them. Russia continues to stare at the gun in his hands, making a decision. His arms drop by his sides and he sighs. "I do not want to follow my boss," He pauses and there is a loud silence filled with hope. "But, orders are orders," He holds the gun up once more, aiming at America. The blue-eyed nation barely registers a shout, the ground coming up to hit his back, and a gunshot.


	3. Chapter 3

Alfred sits on the ground where he fell, clenching his eyes shut, expecting a pain that never came. He slowly opens his eyes and looks down, where he's holding his stomach, but there's no blood. No pain. No hole. And he fell the wrong way, sideways not backwards, and he felt a weight pushing him. _'Someone must of pushed me...'_ He furrows his brows. America looks up.

England is now standing where America was, frozen. He's leaning forward slightly with his forearms gently covering his abdomen. The Brit's not moving, blinking or doing basically anything. America's getting worried, _'What's wrong with him...?'_ America decided to ask him, "E-England?" His voice comes out weaker than he expected and the green-eyes nation doesn't react to his name, America tries something else, "Iggy...?" He whispers. England hates that nickname, whenever America calls him that, The taller country is always hit. However, England just doesn't move. Now America's really worried. _'What is up with him!?'_

After a few pregnant seconds, England moves. It looks like he trying to move forward, but he only manages to move one leg before stopping again. He leans forward a little more, staying silent. The elder nation tries again, this time with the other foot. He slowly lifts it, as he does so however, the effort seems too much for an unknown reason. And England falls to his knees, doubling over, and now holding his abdomen with more force than what's necessary.

America jumps to his feet and runs to England, kneeling beside him. "England? England! England are you okay?!" He yells in desperation. Looking up at Mongolia for help, she just seems in disbelief, staring between England and Russia, whom America is ignoring for the sake of England. All of the soldiers that were hiding, allied and enemy alike, emerge from their hiding places to watch the scene. Many have grave expressions on their faces, avoiding eye contact when America looks at them. He quickly turns head head around the clearing, Russia is gone, and no one will tell him what happened. "What happened...?" He asks, _pleads, _and yet no one will answer. England is groaning now, he leans back and America sees his eyes. Begging for help, and England never begs. America has never felt more hopeless. He leans England back, so now the shorter blonde is lying atop his knees as America supports his upper-body. What the younger blonde sees, he will never forget.

England's dark green uniform is stained, heavy with blood around his stomach and there is a circular rip in his coat and shirt, hitting his body. His skin is paler than usual, and he now has dark bags under his eyes. _'N-no...he...no...'_ Now America knows what had happened.

England had been shot by the bullet meant for America.

England had risked his life for America.

England is now in serious danger because of America.

The younger blonde's eyes widen in absolute, undisputed horror once he realises what had happened. He looks into England's bright green eyes, still full of life, begging for answers. "E-England...why?...why did you?" He barely manages to choke out, before he hears the slightest chuckle from the almost-limp body he's holding. "You idiot..." England whispers in a weak voice, "You think I'd let him hurt you...? Never." He smiles. The saddest and most painful smile America had ever seen. "I wouldn't let him hurt you..." England continues, reaching up a blood-stained hand to caress America's cheek, "I promised I'd never let anyone hurt you."

"Th-That was years ago.." America is crying now, but manages a smile, for England's sake.

"Indeed, but that doesn't make it any less meaningful. A promise is a promise, however long ago it was made in whatever circumstances..." England is now crying. "America, countries can't die from a bullet...you know that..." He asks, smiling.

"No," America sobs "But they can die from a nuclear attack, and with you in this state Russia will-!" America is cut off by England's bloody thumb on his lips.

"America...I know it sometimes seems like I hate you, but I never did. In fact, I...I've always l-lo," England is now cut off by a long breath as his body becomes limp.

"England...? What were you about to say...? Hey...?" America begs softly. He leans his head down to hear England's heart.

The pulse is so faint it's barely there. _'His body must've shut down to help the damage.' _Is the conclusion America makes in his head. The larger country sighs and gently hooks his arms under England's knees and back, picking him up. He looks down at England's face as he stands, the Brit's every were closes and he had a small, open-mouthed smile adorning his face. America grins sadly at England, England always reserved that smile for him.

America began to walk toward his and his allies troops, Mongolia not far behind with her head down and a few tears escaping her eyes. "Where's the medical tent?" America asks, his voice firm despite the internal turmoil he is now suffering. A few of the soldiers motioned for him to follow them, and they began to catch up with the ones already leaving for 'camp' on the other side of the destroyed city. As America is following them, he takes notice of the now eerie silence that has fallen upon the city. The silence is heavy, and every single person in the area feels as if it would suffocate them if it got any worse. America looks over his shoulder, to see Mongolia being consoled by one of her high-ranking soldiers. He looks back down at England, at the smile upon his face. Its funny, America hasn't seen him smile for a long, long while. Not properly, anyway. England sometimes does a cocky smirk, or a flirtatious smile when he's drunk, or maybe a sad smile when America catches him being nostalgic like the old man he is. But never a caring one like the one now frozen on his face. He used to, he always used to, when America was a small colony. If America was ever lost or unhappy, he'd never even have to call, England would just be there. With his perfect smile and perfect eyebrows and perfect hair and perfect singing voice.

Oh, yes, England used to sing. Quite beautifully at that. His accent and even voice made for a melodic sounds that only America and Canada have had the privilege to hear. God, how he wished for that voice now. To tell him that everything's going to be okay. That both of them will be fine. That Russia will give in and the war will end without another drop of blood spilled and family's left unfinished. But, as he was taught by England himself, 'Wishes don't come true by themselves. Hard work, determination and hope are the three things that make dreams a reality, otherwise you forget to live,' He remembers, clear as day. America had been playing outside with England until the stars came out, and France told him that if you wish on a star, the wish will come true. England only chuckled when America had told him this, and said, 'Wishes don't come true by themselves. Hard work, determination and hope are the three things that make dreams a reality, otherwise you forget to live,' America sighs, and prays to god that they reach the camp soon.

America starts to worry about other countries as well._ 'England's brothers_ (Who joined the war by default because England did) _are still pretty angry with him, but probably won't be once they see how bad of a state England's in. France is still fighting Belarus, Latvia and Lithuania away from the rest of Europe and so is Germany and Italy. Everyone overseas is just offering help wherever they can, like me.' _He looks down at England's sleeping face, _'This is just like you, isn't it? Whenever I'm in danger you come running. Can't say the same for me...I'm sorry, England.'_

_'I love you,'_


	4. Chapter 4

The sky seems to be mocking America, despite the clouds and coldness, it wasn't dark. Quite the opposite, actually. The bright sun and thin clouds made for a strange atmosphere, not bright and happy, but not sad an dark either, a boring middle. It seems rather dull in the destroyed city.

America could just about make out the camp a few yards away. They are in the middle of a park with only small patches of green grass dotted everywhere, the tree's leaves were a light green, and the small play-area is rusted an obviously hasn't been used in a long time. There are dozens and dozens of yellowed tents dotted around under the trees in small clusters. In the middle of the large park-slash-camp is the largest tent, quite a few feet wide, has three flags on it. The Mongolian state flag, Union Flag and Old Glory. One of the English soldiers look at America and nods toward the large tent as the rest of the soldiers break off. America carries England over to the tent with Mongolia following them.

As America enters the tent, he sport for beds, two of which are occupied by an American and Mongolian soldier which both look badly hurt and bandaged. A nurse walks up to them. She looks young, in her late twenties, and her brown hair is tied into a bun. Despite her tired face she has a determined and serious look in her eyes and the loose, greenish t-shirt and trousers she's wearing look blood-stained and dirty. However, he cannot tell if she's English or American, because she's definitely not Mongolian, until she speaks. Her green eyes scan England, before landing on his wound. "Put him in a free bed," She says with an American accent. "I'll get the others,"

America walks to one of the two free beds, the once closest to the back of the tent, and gently places him there. The younger nations's eyes scan the Brit's unconscious body. He feels a hand on his shoulder and looks up toward Mongolia's tanned face. "He'll make it through, you know how much of a stubborn ass he is..." She chuckles and so does America, very quietly. Shuffling is heard and about three nurses come into the tent, one of them being the one from earlier, the other two being Mongolian. They all rush towards England, saying instructions that America didn't really listen to, and shoved both him and Mongolia away. America is about to protest before Mongolia stops him by placing a hand on his shoulder and attempting to take the unwilling American outside. Reluctantly, America follows her.

Outside, America sighs and watches as his hot breath rises up into the bright, cold evening sun, and disappears into the dull clouds. Mongolia looks over to him and sighs, "America...I-" She pauses, "I don't know what its like to be in your position, but I do know what England would want you to do." America shifts his solemn eyes to her, "He would want you to be strong. Now, I know its cheesy, but it's true. Do you think England's the type to do something without thinking? He wanted to save **you**, he wouldn't have just done that for many other people, I don't think. You're more precious to him than you think, you can't just spend your time moping about because of him," She finishes as America turns to her.

"Is he not precious enough for me to mourn him?" He asks and continues without giving Mongolia a chance to reply, "You know, I always wanted to be his hero. It ended up being the other way around," He laughs dryly as tiny, hot tears run down his face, "He saved my life. And now he will probably in the next few months...and it's all my fault..." An almost mute sob escapes his lips, and the tall country feels arms wrap around him._  
_

"He will not die," Mongolia whispers in a determined, however shaky voice, "He won't...He can't...He can't leave us..." Mongolia now begins to quietly sob into America's chest, gripping onto him for dear life. "I'm scared America," Her voice is now trembling.

"S-so am I Mongolia. I'm terrified..." America's voice wavers as well, fat tears now running down both of their faces and getting America's clothes wet. It is a while before America feels a light tap on his shoulder. He wipes his eyes and turns his head. The three nurses are staring there with neutral expressions, though one looks rather pleased. The American nurse motions for them to go inside, the two waste no time and don't notice where the three women went.

They walk into the tent, empty other than England's tent, and walk up to their unconscious friend. _'He looks so peaceful...'_ America notes, looking at his sleeping face, it's calm, without any creases and his mouth is open very, very slightly to allow the old nation to breathe. His hair is disheveled, giving him a cute look. Looking down his body, America notices the nurses have taken off his shirt, leaving his blood-stained-bandaged torso bare. America also notices that one of his thighs is bandaged, which is probably why he was limping earlier. He hums and shifts in his sleep, a small smile coming to his somewhat-cleaned face. America smiles too, a carefully hopeful smile, as if he believes he can't but does anyway. How can he not? He loves England and England loves him. Hope is a godsend and now America it is in his view. England is alive, and if America can protect him, he will hopefully remain that way.

America and Mongolia walk up to England's bedside. America kneels before his ex-mentor and grasps his hand, expecting it to be cold, but it is warm in his hand. Just like when he was a child, and England would hold his hand as they took a walk through his rose garden. They still sometimes did, just without holding hands. America sighs and Mongolia leaves the tent, giving them some privacy. "We were just talking about you," He begins, "And crying. That's how much you affect me, ya' know? Only you could make me cry and hold someone...And Mongolia. I never though I'd see her do that! heh..." America attempts to lift the atmosphere between him and a comatose England. He sighs once more, "You've only been out a few hours and I already miss you. You and you're stupid eyebrows and stupid insults, and stupid hair, and stupid getting yourself hurt for me!" He ends up shouting and another fat tear rolls down his cheek, "Why me, England...? "He says, barely a whisper, "Why did you have to go and get yourself hurt for me? Why aren't I lying there?" He lets out a frustrated and upset huff, "You're more of a hero than I ever was, you stupid caterpillar brows..."

"Who are you calling stupid?" America hears a wavering voice say.


	5. Chapter 5

America turns at the accented voice to see Mongolia standing in the entrance of the tent,

"You shouldn't insult when he can't reply...I just sent out a letter to France telling him that England's badly injured. He'll want to know.." She says. America nods in understanding and they are left in a silence of mutual sadness and hopelessness for a few minutes. "If..." America starts, "If England had never found me-"

"No,"

"But what if he di-"

"America don't,"

"Then he would never have bee-"

"AMERICA, STOP!" Mongolia shouts, "If England had never found you, he would have always been lonely and would have stayed a bitter old pirate until the UK faded. You saved him, America, why can't you see that..." She says in a rushed voice and continues before America can answer. "He may have acted all high-and-mighty as a pirate, but he was lonely America, everyone hated him. Then you came along, and you chose him over France, and then he had Canada. America, the days with you are so important to him, don't disgrace them now that he needs memories like that more than ever."

"Hah...how do you know all this?"

"Rumours...and France." They both share a small chuckle. And another comfortable quiet takes over them.

"What..." America asks after a short period, "What about now?"

"What do you mean...?"

"Well, isn't he lonely now? Or, back before the war."

Mongolia pauses.

"...Yes, I suppose he is..." She says solemnly. America sighs.

"And...it's my fault again..."

"No, America, he's just afraid..."

"Afraid of what?

"Afraid of people leaving him. He's an old country America, and if you look back on is history every has eventually left him."

"Oh god," America chokes out, "You're right..."

"Yes, and I think he believes he can spare himself from that by being in 'splendid isolation'" She sighs, "He hurts himself by trying to do the exact opposite." She walks out of the tent with those last words. America sighs and turns back to the comatose body on the bed.

_'He looks so...peaceful. Even with a paled complexion and dark bags under his eyes, it can just be that he's had a hard day? Or he's ill, and needs a nap? Yeah. The war never happened. England's had a rough day and comes home and had a nap and I'm there when he wakes up. With a cup of tea and happy words and normal conversation. Like it should be._

_'But it's not... England could be dead within a few days if Russia takes advantage of this. Citizens are dying everyday. Oh, god. This senseless battle is killing everyone..._

_'And what if England...does...die?'_ America feels a painful ache in his chest that spreads to his fingers,_ 'No...NO! He won't die. He will not die. I'll kill that commie bastard myself if he DARE hurt England! It'll be fun watching his bleed out. Or maybe a slow torture? Oh, yeah, I could kill his sisters in front of his eyes so he knows how I felt and-_

**_'Woah! _**_Where the hell did that come from? Yeah, I'll kill him but GOD I'm not that sadistic..._

_'Wait, is there a rip in the tent? Is it raining? No... is he crying in his sleep...?'_

America leans over England's face, pained in his sleep, and spots the tears slowly running down the side of the Brits head and disappearing in his hair. America sighs and wipes away the next drop that appears from his eye. He closes his own eyes tightly and grips his large hands into fists. The taller blonde rests his forehead on England's bandaged chest, leaving it there for a bit.

"Meri..."

_'What..?!'_

"M-merica..."

_'Is that...'_

"N-noo..."

_'England?!'_

America's head shoots up from the elder blonde's chest, and the taller's eyes find his face. Still pained and unconscious.

"'Meri...d-don't..." England barely whispers.

"England...England!" America almost shouts hopefully, "England I'm here, what is it?" He grasps the Brit's hand and squeezes it. England squeezes back desperately. "N-Nurse! Mongolia!" America yells outside the tent. Not a second later, Mongolia and two nurses rush inside.

"What, America, What is it?!" Mongolia says loudly, at America's side in an instant.

"I-it's England! He spoke, he said my name!" America squeezes England's hand for good measure, feeling the elder nation squeeze back once more. "Ha! Haha! See! He can understand me, he knows I'm here! England! Come on, say something! I'm here, we're all here for you!" America sounds over-the-moon with joy. Mongolia smiles in understanding and nods at the nurse. "America," She says in a soft tone, "You have to step back. The nurse is going to examine him." America is startled out of his happy-trance and looks around with wide eyes. "Oh. Yeah, alright, sure." He hesitantly stands back and is dragged out of the tent by Mongolia once again.

"Haha, Mongolia, I can't believe it! He knew it was me! He knew I was there! He knew I held his hand! Hahaha!" America laughs sincerely.

The female nation lets out a motherly chuckle, "I know, America. But... you said he spoke. What did he say?"

"Oh! Uh, he was mumbling, but it sounded like he said my name."

"Hm. America, you do know nations have dreams and nightmares, right? What if he was just dreaming?"

"Well then at least he's still alive! He squeezed back, Mongy! He must have had to have some knowledge I was there!"

"Nations are stronger than humans so...I guess that's possible..."

"It is," A third -American- voice interrupts their conversation. Heads turn to the nurse that had just emerged from the tent. "Nations do have a strong mental and emotional mind, much stronger than humans and it is the same for their physical bodies as well. From what I can see...he hasn't gained consciousness yet but this is a good sign, he is improving a lot quicker than we thought he would."

"So, he's gonna be okay?" America asks hopefully.

"If things continue the way they are. He's going to be just fine." The nurse smiles.

"Wait," Mongolia says suspiciously, "How do you know all of this?"

"Oh, let me introduce myself. I am Alexa O'Connor. Nurse in both humans and nations."

"They have those?" America asks,

"Yeah, someone has to diagnose you guys when you get sick out of the blue."

"I thought we just had China and Japan," He says in a half-amused tone.

There is a mutual chuckle around the tent.

"Their methods only go so far." Alexa says with a smile, "Well, I'll leave you with him,"

Alexa leaves the tent with a friendly smile and a nod.

"Where will you be sleeping tonight, America?" Mongolia's soft voice rings out in the tent.

"Hah, I don't know."

"You don't have your own tent?"

"Yeah, course I do but..." He looks to England.

"Hm...he'll be fine America. You can leave him for one night?"

"But...but what if he wakes up and I'm not there? What if he panics? What if they can't-"

"America," Mongolia's voice interrupts him in a calming but authoritative tone, "I doubt he'll wake up tonight and you need your rest. You can see him tomorrow, another battle isn't expected until next month so you'll be fine and so will he."

America sighs, and allows Mongolia to drag him out of the tent, which is happening way to often.


End file.
